


Like real people do

by Kekgirl21



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kekgirl21/pseuds/Kekgirl21
Summary: Oh fuck me I guess, first chapter, don’t read if you have a soul
Relationships: Joan Crawford/Barbara Stanwyck
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

And then the door closed, it grew quiet in the big White House, the feet that had made so much noise over the last hours finally leaving the tiles, the men who had brought in all their belongings, who had unpacked and built and painted and tiled, finally had gone. 

She stood in her house. Her house. It was big and spacious, two stories, a pool. She had her own room, her own bed, her own bookcase. It was all In white. White walls with no pictures adoring the nearly placed wallpaper yet. It was not pierced by any nail, so fresh and clean and innocent. 

They had moved here for the business, she would be doing movies after movies and he’d be failing, but they didn’t know that yet. She wasn’t even suspecting it. To her he was the greatest actor there had ever been, he had taught her so much over the last years and she would be forever grateful for his firm hand, even though her memories would be tinted in regret and anger later on in life. 

The doorbell sounded strange, it made her flinch as she was tracing the banister with her hand. No dust. 

She hurried to the door, before frank could come downstairs. He had been unpacking his clothes, the suits, the shirts and pants he had been wearing for so long now, that made him look smart and easy going. 

„Hello, my name is Joan Crawford. We’ve met.“, a hand was held out. A slender hand, carefully manicured with red vanish. Her own hand felt rough and wrong when she took it. Baffled, she opened the door wider. 

„Fay. Barbara Fay. Yes I think I remember. MGM right?“, she tried to get back memories from the big MGM plot, with all its people, running and shouting around. 

„Yes.“, Joan Crawford smiled a nearly shy, tooth smile. „We live next door, i saw the men coming in and out from my window and I thought.“, she raised a small red tin box, „I thought you’d might like some cookies.“, her smile was genuine and Barbara felt her own face morph into a sly smile too. 

„Oh.“, Barbara was taken by the gesture. She moved to the side. „Would you like to come in? I have some coffee.“ she was almost nervous as the woman nodded and followed her inside, the door closing behind Them. 

„Frank!“, she shouted upstairs. „Sorry for the mess, we haven’t unpacked everything.“, she shrugged, leading the slender redhead into the spacious kitchen. 

Frank didnt respond and the two women sat down at the kitchen island, placing the cookies on a plate, Barbara trying to find a clean cup and some milk and sugar. 

„Here.“, her voice was awkward, she wasn’t used to it, but the woman made her nervous, watching her work in the kitchen, filling water into a pot, finding the coffee and a pot, with those big blue eyes.  
When she finally set the coffee down she was exhausted. 

„Im sorry, I don’t know why he’s taking so long.“, she had gotten used to apologising for her husband. After a while one gets used to it. He probably had fallen asleep, drunk. 

„Married?“, Joan asked, taking the coffee into her hands. She took it black, like Barbara.

„Yes. His name is Frank Fay and he’s the best actor I’ve ever seen.“, her eyes didn’t light up like they used to when she said it. Joan laughed, a melodic chuckle. 

„A lot of people have said that about a lot of men.“, she smiled an honest smile. „I’m married too. No children though.“, a side glance told Barbara she regretted the last part.

„No....no children.“, Barbara didn’t particularly care for children, but Frank wanted a bunch. They had tried of course, but it hadn’t worked yet. She had a sinking feeling every few months, that it was because of her, that something had gone wrong that one time she had to do things little girls had to do in the big city, where no one took care of them. 

But the woman before her would not understand that, with her perfect posture and the way she drank her coffee with one hand on the cup, one hand on her lap. She was probably brought up in a big White House like this one, never having to work a day in her life. She probably never had to go to bed hungry or freeze in the cold winters air, only a coat and shoes on. 

Joan Crawford had gone to bed hungry more nights then not, but she did her utter most to hide it. That’s why Barbaras first impression of her was so wrong, she simply was an actress and acted her part. 

„You have a beautiful Space here. May I see the garden? Do you like gardening?“, Joan left her chair and took a few steps towards the back door. 

The walked over the wood terrace, towards the pool. „I’m afraid I’ve never gardened in my life.“, Barbara shrugged. 

„You should try it, it’s refreshing. I have a rose garden. Maybe you’d like to see it some day?“, Joan slid down, sitting on the grass. Barbara also sat down, her hands staring to play with the cold, green. It was healthy grass, not burned out by the sun yet.

„Maybe I will. Then again, I’d hate to get my hands dirty, reminds me of.....“, she stopped herself, not wanting to speak of the dirt and the sorrow of the apartments she had been growing up in New York. 

Joan watched her with careful eyes, fixing her face, not letting her out of sight. Barbara wanted to sink into the soil, dirt be damned. Then the blue eyes wandered to her own hands. Joan looked at her hands, shaking them a bit. 

„I remember how sore they used to get, how red from trying to get rid of the dirt. And the cheep soap didn’t help too.“ Barbara’s eyes widened. „I still wash my hands every half an hour. No cheep soap now.“, Joan blushed. „I can still smell it. The lye, you know. And the bleach they used in the washing place I used to sleep in.“

Barbara knew the smell, she had lived above a laundry place and the smell still lingered under her nose. It was a confession on Joans part, a revelation on Barbara’s. She had met lots of people in Hollywood, she found them shallow and boring. 

She wasn’t well spoken, well read or well educated, she lacked in poise, but Barbara’s cursing could hold up to any sailor. She had a Brooklyn accent. No makeup. Didn’t fit In and most of all, didn’t want to fit in.  
But now there sat this woman on her lawn, this slender blushing woman, somewhat lost, somewhat scared, looking as if she’d burst into tears because Barbara still hadn’t said anything. 

She hesitated for a moment, then just smiled. Her smile reaching her eyes, she nodded. „I would love to see your rose garden some day.“, she hoped the woman understood. Hoped, she knew what it meant and what she had said and that she knew now. 

Joan knew, smiled and got up. Just before she got to say something, a loud noise interrupted them. 

A loud scream shook the land, both women rushing inside. Frank had fallen to the kitchen floor. Barbara got to his side, trying to get him to his back. 

„I can do it myself.“, he slurred, drunk.

„Yes.“, Barbara still helped him up as the man leaned heavily on her. 

„And Who is this now?“, he asked Joan who had quickly grabbed a glass of water, handing it to him. 

„Joan Crawford.“, she smiled, a bit weaker than before. It was obvious, she knew how to deal with drunken men.

„Your pretty.“, Frank spat out. „Isn’t she pretty Barbara? Isn’t she?“, he poked her, thinking, he knew her weakness for beautiful women all to well, to him it was a kooky thing, something funny. 

Barbara blushed deeply, looking away, she tried to get him out of the door.   
„Tell me, Babs, isn’t she pretty?“, he slurred harder now, getting angry. 

„Yes. Yes she’s very beautiful.“, she rushed him out, looking back at Joan, quickly. The woman too had blushed too obviously embarrassed by her words. 

She managed to get him onto the sofa, the body heavy in her arms. This was not the man she married, then again she wasn’t the woman he had married. 

Joan watched them from a distance, when Barbara came back to apologise, she smiled. „Franchot drinks too.“, turning towards the woman she took her hand.

„If you ever need a place, my door is always open, Barbara.“, blue eyes met and the air seemed to press out of Barbara’s lungs. The sun was hitting the strange woman directly in the face, lighting up the blue eyes, the hair like a flame and the skin that seemed so smooth was now covered in freckles. 

She had to fight the familiar urge to kiss her, had to push it deep deep down, it would resurface that night, when she closed her eyes to sleep. Once Frank had seen her kiss a woman, when she had been very drunk. Usually she was very careful, but that night he had come home early. The bruises he had left were a lesson. She had pushed it down. 

Joan left, leaving her standing with her back to the door, breathing very hard and deep. Maybe this house wasn’t so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The night crept up upon the house that was supposed to be a home and she was lying in her king sized bed. She had decided on greens and whites, the furniture dark and expensive. Frank really liked antiques and because she never had thought about what kind of furniture she liked, she had decided to like them too. 

Her room felt stuffy, she got up and opened the window. The air invaded the room, like an army of cold needles, and she hurried back into her bed. Her mind wandered back to the woman who had visited them today. Something about her had left a mark. Maybe it had been the blue eyes, maybe the freckles or maybe just the cookies, that had been so sweet and thoughtful on her lips. 

The night is a black veil, that is placed over morals and systems and so she lay there, lost in thought about the woman for a while, before she shook her head and pressed her hands to her temple. Why was she like that. Thoughts were racing. She should be resting right now . She should be doing a lot of things, like sleeping next to her husband. With a groan she turned around again. 

Mornings were always somewhat sacral to her. The sun was not even peaking over the hills and nothing lit the red roofs of the row of houses, the air was still cold and fresh and nobody bothered her, while she was filling up her cup for the second time. 

Coffee rushing through her veins like blood did for others, the earthy, grounding taste always brought her down to where she needed to be to go to work. She didn’t sleep very well, often staying up until late at night. 

It didn’t bother her much, she still got her work done, still made her bread and butter. the tiredness seemed to sleep into the coffee, like other people would mix it with milk and sugar, she would pour in her tiredness and watch it dissolve. 

Frank usually didn’t get up until later, but today he disrupted the serenity, by shuffling into the room.

„Morning.“, he was jawning, his teeth showing. She had already grabbed a cigarette for him, rushing to get his coffee and newspaper. 

He had forbidden her to smoke, something she had been doing ever since she could stand on her own two feet and it had been hell ever since. She had to bring him his and light it for him, but other than that, she had stopped for him. She grew out her hair for him. She had changed her wardrobe for him. Barbara would do a lot for this man. 

„Morning.“, she handed him cigarette and newspaper, kissing him on the forehead, as he began to read. 

„I’ll be off to work.“, she did not want to be late, but he pulled her back by her arm. It hurt a bit, but she let him pull her into his lap. 

„I don’t want you to go,“ he groaned into her neck, while his lips necked her skin. When they had first started out, she hadn’t minded the kisses and touches, it had been a welcome distraction from what she was used to. Now it felt wrong, it felt like something latched onto her skin and she wanted it desperately to go away. She closed her eyes letting him, for a while. 

He pulled back. 

„Whats the matter.“

„Nothing.“, she tried to sound like everything was fine. 

„Nothing, nothing!“, he pushed her off him, she stepped a few feet away.   
„It’s always nothing. You don’t even like it when I kiss you.“, his voice was deeper now. Dangerous. 

„Im just tired, Frank.“, she turned to leave again. 

„Yeah your always fucking tired. One day I’ll be tired of you.“, he shouted after her, slamming his fist into the table, the porcelain clinking. 

One of the candle sticks she had placed there fell over, but she didn’t care. She left the house, slamming the door hard, driving with angry tears in her eyes to the studio. 

When she came home, there were flowers on the table. A nice bouquet. Frank nowhere to be found, she smiled. He wanted to apologise. A pink card was attached, before she could read it, the door flung open. 

„Who is he.“, Frank grabbed her arm, hard. This would leave a mark, it hurt. 

She tried to get loose of him, struggling. „I don’t know.“, she got out. 

„You slut. You awful whore. Who got you these.“, he used these words to hurt her. He had learnt it was working and she regretted the day he had found out, nearly as much as the day she married him. Word hurt so much more, when your vulnerable. 

„Let. Me go.“, she got free, handing him the card. 

His eyes flew over the small paper. Huffing, he threw it at her, leaving the room without a word. 

She grabbed her wrist, then the paper. 

„Thank you so much for showing me your beautiful home, I hope we will be great friends. Bless you— Joan Crawford.“ 

The handwriting was neat, but one letter had been smeared, by a fleeting hand. The flowers were beautiful, gardenias, a few pink roses, some beautiful hydrangeas, all arranged with skill. She would keep the card in her nightstand for years to come, but for now she took the flowers into her bedroom, away from the eyes of her husband. 

Knocking on his door, she tried to talk to him. „I’m sorry.“, she sat on the foot of his bed. He was sitting there, reading his script like a child, sulking. „I love you.“, she gave it her best to make it sound like the truth. he looked up. 

„show me then.“, he put away his book. She knew what he meant and turned away slightly. 

„You don’t love me.“, he spat at her. „You don’t Love anyone but yourself.“

„That’s not true.“, she whirled around. „That’s not true, I do love you.“

„Prove it then. Stop working.“, he hissed at her, his eyes angry and wild. 

„Frank if this is what you want, I’ll do it.“, she turned, not wanting him to see how much he hurt her. 

„I’m sorry.“, she apologised to him again and again, and when he kissed her she kept apologising and when he had forgiven her she apologised to herself for hurting herself like this. 

The topic of work was not brought up again. He knew it would be better for her to keep going. Everything was fine for a few weeks, life went on. She went to work, he stayed home. 

She waved at Joan a few times, while passing her with her car and the woman had waved at her with so much enthusiasm, one could have thought she was the queen of England. 

Barbara had send Joan flowers back and a little game had stared. Some days she would come home and find flowers from Joan and each time they were some different flowers. Barbara herself called the florist each time and asked for yellow roses each time. The best ones they had. 

And sometimes she would stand at her window and look out at the sleeping neighbors. The house was quiet and lights always were off durning the night. The night was dark and her eyes roamed the street. Then a light turned on. A shadow at the window. 

The female figure stood out against the bright light. Obviously in a passionate embrace, Joan was pressed against the window. Barbara knew she should not be watching, But the shadow raised its arms, the sweater she had been wearing was removed. The other shadow must be franchot. 

Nothing could be seen, but the other figure bent down, kneeling and Barbara watched as the hands on the window tried to find stability, the aristocratic side profile sharp against the light, head thrown back in passion. Then it hit Barbara. This was not Franchot. The shadow wasn’t taller than Joan, it had curves, not the straight body of a man. This was a woman. 

She shut the window, quickly getting into bed, her mind spinning around the secret she just had uncovered.


	3. Chapter 3

Barbara walked faster. She just had to get to her car. Joan hadn’t spotter her yet. 

Hand on glass, a breath in the air, warm light cutting a silhouette in the darkness. It all flashed though her mind, she tried to push it away, pretending she hadn’t seen it. She probably had seen wrongly, it had been franchot. 

Her low heels clicked on the floor. Joan was gardening, cutting some flowers in her front yard, gloves and all. „Please don’t look up, please don’t look up.“, Barbara prayed. 

Joan pushed her small shovel into the ground, looking up. Some hair had fallen into her face and she pushed it away. A smile erupted on her face, spreading all over her cheeks. 

„Hi!“, she yelled across the street. Barbara cursed herself for not parking on her own grounds. 

„Hi!“, clearing her throat she tried not to look at her. Joan stepped to her gate. 

„On you way to work?“, removing her green gloves, the milky hands not fazed by the work they had done. 

„hmh.“, Barbara hummed, still looking at the hands. The delicate digits were now fumbling with a bracelet, golden and expensive. „Thank you for the flowers.“, she had kept them all longer than she should have, some petals already falling down. 

„No thank you. How did you know I loved roses?“, Joan grinned, standing amidst roses .

„It was an educated guess.“

„Oh, I need to get to the studio as well.“, Joan leaned on the iron gate. „Why dont we drive together?“ and without waiting for an agreement on Barbara’s part Joan turned back to the house, leaving a stunned woman behind. „Just a Minute.“, Joan chirped, as she put away the gloves and loosened the apron she had put on. Underneath was a smart dress, probably worth more than Barbara’s entire closet. 

She stood there, awkwardly, waiting and when Joan came back the gravel path she tried hard to unclench her jaw. „Let’s take my car, if you don’t mind.“, Joan took her by her arm, spinning her around and without even batting an eyelash, hooked her hand into Barbara’s arm. 

„It’s this way. Don’t you love the morning air? Beautiful day to garden.“, she chatted along. 

Barbara nodded and hummed in agreement, not entirely sure what was happening. The car was black and big and beautiful. Joan got in on the drivers seat. 

„I like to drive myself sometimes.“ She chuckled. „I’m not very good, but so far I haven’t crashed into anything.“ Barbara visibly stiffened, as the car started. 

„Don’t worry I’m an excellent driver.“, Joan said, as she missed the second red light. 

Mentally, Barbara was racing To say anything. Don’t be weird. Say something. She had started to sweat. The Roman Profile came into her mind again, throat stretched, neck exposed, lips slightly parted. 

„So what Are you working on Right now?,“Joan took a turn, the wheels screeching a bit. 

„I’m trying to get a good script.“, Barbara was trying to land a role that would help her find footing.

„It’s hard right?“, Joan chuckled. „Have you resorted to the couch yet?“, she took a quick look at the woman next to her. Barbara prayed to god she’d arrive at the studio alive. 

There was no need to be coy. „No.“ also no need to pretend to not know what Joan meant.  
Of course she had heard about it, but so far no one had asked her. She would do it, do anything to survive here, but so far she had been lucky, getting roles because of her talent. 

„I have.“, Joan looked at the street now, a certain edge in her voice. „I give good head.“

The bluntness shouldn’t have surprised Barbara, but still she nearly choked. Since moving here language around her had changed. People said „making love“ or „going to heaven“, not fuck. 

„Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.“, Joan covered her mouth with her hand. Her accent slipped a bit, now slightly more slurry. A facade crumbling. „I’m a classy woman you know.“ 

Joan had married into a family of high society people. The Fairbanks were known for lavish parties, well spoken and well mannered events with book discussions and two kinds of forks. Joan had been sitting in front of a mirror for days at at time, studying how to sit, how to talk without her hand and how to pick up a salad fork. 

Barbara laughed, the situation absurd. Two women, who obviously didn’t belong here, imposters in a big city full of rich people. Joan laughed as well. It was a hearty laugh, not the chuckle she had used for when she had visited a few weeks ago with the cookies. 

„Im glad you understand“, Joan said as they pulled up to the studio lot. Barbara was glad too. „Its hard to pretend all the time.“ 

She was right. The „how do you dos“, the „why thank yous“, and especially the frowned upon cursing gave Barbara a hard time too. So far she hadn’t been invited to big events, but if she kept going like this, the would surely follow. 

„Why don’t you come over for drinks tonight.“, Joan had straightened her back a bit, after they had found a space to park. Barbara, who had been a nervous wreck when she got into the car now felt a big sad, that the wild ride had ended so soon. Joan was easy To talk to. „My husband is out with his family and I hate to be alone in the evening.“ 

Barbara nodded. „Alright.“, she collected her bag from under the seat. 

„I’ll finish around 4 here. I’ll take you back and change and then you can come over around 8?“, The woman smiled so openly, it was contagious. Her excitement seeped into the car, creeping up Barbara’s legs into her stomach. 

„Good.“, they got out. „Im glad you moved in.“, Joan stepped closer and Barbara didn’t move. Not an inch. They were almost the same height, looking directly at each other. Barbara’s eyes were fixed on a spot on Joans cheek, trying her hardest not to look at her lips, these red lips, that moved so much when talking. Barbara wondered if Joan would hug her. 

Joan touched her arm, just above her wrist, the gloved hand gracing her skin so lightly, almost like a feather. Barbara closed her eyes when Joan turned and walked in, her breathing uncontrollable. It was like her body was betraying her. 

The full work day she was distracted, loosing her thoughts, looking though some papers that MGM had left for her; that would have been a job of maybe half an hour but it took her hours to get to the end of page one. She had forgotten anything when she reached the end. 

„Hey“, Joan came up behind her, making her flinch. „Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.“, she looked fresh and chipper, her Make-up newly applied. „Are you ready?“, she asked. 

Barbara wasn’t ready, but she knew, she would not finish this today, so she nodded.  
They set off in the same pace, Joan racing the car home like an impatient child. 

She told her about her day, chatting along, talking about scripts and directors, on how she was happy with her life and how much she loved her husband. 

It was quite obviously a lie, everyone knew that Joan and Franchot were fighting, even Barbara had heard some rumours on the lot, but she nodded along, smitten by the excitement that filled the air. „And I’ll have children, lots of children.“, Joan finished. „Theyll be beautiful and they will love me.“

„I’m sure of it.“, Barbara took the door handle. 

„What should I wear tonight?“, she asked, not sure if there would be a dresscode. 

„Nothing formal, it’ll just be the two of us.“, Joan smiled, getting out as well. „Franchot is going out with his friends and leaving me behind.“, she faked sadness, then laughed. „Well have a good time I can tell.“

Barbara was Not so sure about that. She would have to tell Frank, she’d be out. And while he was not against her socialising, he was very jealous. He would probably be angry and follow her to Joans and she wanted to avoid that. 

But against her judgment she found an empty house and a note. 

„Going out with a few buddies, will be back tonight.“ Frank had smeared across a torn out page.


	4. Chapter 4

The phone rang, it was her agent, she had a new story to read, that he would send over the next day. She closed the bedroom door behind her. Stripping down her day dress, she made her way into the bathroom. When she had been little someone had told her of the marble bathtubs of the rich and the beautiful. 

„I’m gonna have a marble bathtub.“, she had quipped, so firmly and she had never forgotten. Now she sank her body into the warm water, the marble so cold against her back. It but her skin like ice, but it felt good. She had earned that marble, but by bit. 

The little tin, that once had been for her spare change she had still on her vanity, to keep her grounded. She had been dancing little steps for her fathers co workers, hiking up her dress, on the way to his construction sites. They had thrown coins at her, something she didn’t understand, but took with dirty hands. One of them had pulled her onto his knees. Her father had punched him. 

The money she could have spent on sweets or toys, was carefully kept in this little tin box, for when she was going to buy her house. And that she had done. She had deposited the two dollars and 40 cents and some brick In this house now was payed for by that money. Just one stone, but that stone meant so much. 

She relaxed into the water. A bruise had formed on her arm, she carefully rubbed some cream onto the damaged skin. The blood had pooled in strange ways, blue and yellow and green, she watched it for a while. One tries to forget the bruises, but this one she watched with lazy eyes. Finally she rested her head on a towel and just closed her eyes. 

Her hand wandered a while, over the cold marble, her neck and finally Into the water, like sliding under the covers, when it’s dark. And the water felt like a blanket, shielding her from the world and she slid her right further down. She was too tired to think about the consequences, about the shame and guilt. About what God would think of her. 

When she dried her skin of she didn’t look into the mirror. More time than she had anticipated had passed and she had to get ready for her meeting with Joan.  
A simple dress had to do, she didn’t have anything fancy. Frank liked her in long dresses, that covered her legs fully, but she chose something about mid calf. It seemed appropriate. 

She got a bit nervous. What was she doing. The woman clearly had intentions, unknown to her. She clearly wanted to expose her, to tell everyone what a horrible person she was and get all the good roles over her. Why did she even trust her. 

But she did kind of trust her, at least so far and she rang the doorbell, after stepping over the pavement. The lights were all off. Maybe she wasn’t in and changed her mind or just forgotten. She wanted to run, to got back to her bed and forget all about this, to never leave her house ever again. The light turned on, a shadow appeared in the hallway and Joan opened the door. 

Barbara’s eyes dropped. Instantly she was staring at what was before her eyes, there was no other way. Joan was dressed only in a silky bathrobe. Exposing her chest, showing off silky skin that wanted to be touched.

„I am so sorry.“, she opened the door wider. „I fell asleep in the bathtub and didn’t get a chance to fix this.“, she waved vaguely to her face. 

„I“, Barbara dragged her eyes back up, it nearly physically hurt to do so. 

„I can wait here if you want to.“, she tried to find something in the other woman’s eyes, anything that detected malicious attempts, but couldn’t find any. 

„Please.“, Joan gestured her to come in. „Join me I’ll be quick.“ 

They walked into the place, it smelled like citrus and gardenias and soap. The furniture was modern, nearly abstract. 

„Follow me.“ Joan made her way upstairs. „Just sit, I’ll be right back.“ 

She had lead her into her bedroom, a huge dream in pinks and yellows, it was soft where Joan was hard, it was feminine where Joan had broad shoulders, it contrasted Perfectly. 

The woman lead her to a chair and left her there, the door to her closet only halfway closed, Barbara could see the shadow of the woman as she undressed. She saw the bathrobe pool beneath her feet, saw the slender arms pull over a dress. When she came back out, Barbara had clawed her fingers into her thigh until it hurt. She had tried so hard to push down the desire, to get the feelings of arousal that bubbled up. 

She had now successfully convinced herself that it had been franchot and not a woman, she had seen and that Joan was friendly to her because she reminded her of her past and nothing more. 

Joan came back, a simple black dress, combing her hair, watching her sit there on the chair, a bit lost. 

„Alright.“, she made her way to the door. „Let’s have some fun.“

They made their way to the sitting room, a blue and green decorated monster of a creation. Barbara felt small on the big sofa, but accepted the drink that was handed to her. 

„Now.“, Joan must have read her mind, because she sat in front of her. „Who Are you.“ 

„Im Barbara Stanwyck. Im 29, married.“, She startete but Joan cut her off.

„I know that, no.“, she shook her head. „Who Are YOU.“ she bent forward, lighting a match and her cigarette. „What do you dream about at night.“

Barbara remembered her dream from last night, the hot and sticky air she had woken up to. „Ive given up on dreaming.“, she smiled into her drink, drowning it after a minute. It got quiet as Joan also gulped down hers.   
The alcohol burned in her cheeks and her throat. 

„Let’s Dance.“, Joan held out her hand. „Let’s get you dreaming again.“

Without thinking she got up, a bit wobbly on her legs as she took the stretched out hand. Soft. 

Joan pulled out a record. „My favourite.“, she winked. 

Their hands met, Joan taking the lead as they swept across the hardwood floor. Barbara tried her hardest to keep her breathing low but the alcohol made her dizzy and she started to lean on the other woman. 

They had begun in big circles but now they were standing close to each other as the music trickled down around them. Barbara could feel Joans breath on her neck, it would be so easy to turn around and kiss her now. To turn her face and bite into the translucent skin. 

They didn’t speak, but Joans hand wandered from her waist a bit lower and her own hand roamed Joans back, feeling the strong muscle under her hand. Her breathing had quickened, she was staring at a spot in the room, not recognising anything, but the touch on her back. 

The door opened and the two women scattered apart. Franchot came in, obviously drunk and smiled at his wife. 

„Hello there.“, he grabbed her by her hips, pulling her into a passionate kiss. 

Barbara grabbed her things. „Thanks Joan. This was fun.“, she didn’t even wait for her to answer, just seeing Joan kiss the man was enough for her. She left the house cold and empty. The hand on her hips still tracing something in her dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

Joan had dropped by again. She had made a habit to just drop by, unannounced, to bring something to eat, to share some coffee she had gotten. Coffee was a rare thing and Barbara, ever since she had been a child, was hopelessly addicted. 

Sipping on her cup, she watched Joan walk around in her kitchen. The woman knew instinctively where to look for spoons, as if she had a sixth sense. They had started to see each other nearly daily, sometimes just drinking coffee, sometimes dancing. It made her smile, it made her giddy. Sometimes late at night, she stood at the Window, that faced Joans house and stared into the dark. 

„And then he gave me this script.“, Joan laughed out loud. „It was the most hideous thing I’ve ever read.“ she had told this story already, but Barbara listened with open eyes. The woman could tell a story, with her melodic voice, like no other. Barbara swept her eyes over the slender body, watching the hips move with the music on the radio. 

Frank came in, dumping his mug into the sink. He grabbed her shoulders and Barbara tensed. Joan had noticed it, had seen the look of unease on the other woman’s face. She suspected there was something Barbara didn’t tell her, about the marriage. Then again she only spoke in the highest voices about Frank, praising his work, finding excuses why he didn’t join them for tea. (He was working, sleeping or out in the city) 

The man grabbed her hard, his knuckles whitening, while Barbara was placing a firm hand on his. 

„No.“, she said with a slight edge. It could cut someone, but it didn’t affect Frank. He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her face up, placing a kiss on her lips. It didn’t feel like a kiss, more like a hit to the face. She tried to enjoy it, tried her hardest to feel anything, but her eyes stayed open. 

When he left, unsatisfied and unhappy, she sighed. 

„How are things?“, Joan gabbed a chair. 

„With Frank?“, Barbara sighed. „Great I guess.“, she paused. „He really loves me.“ 

„do you love him?“, Joan asked carefully. 

„Yes of course. He’s the best.“ it didn’t sound very authentic, Barbara knew that. 

„Does he....“, she didn’t dare to ask, but they both knew what she would ask if she could. 

Barbara shook her head. He hadn’t touched her in weeks. She had avoided it like the plague, it was something she didn’t like, didn’t want and didn’t need. He was clumsy and hurt her and she was scared and uninterested. 

Joan watched her, her eyes wandering from her eyes to her lips. „why not?“

Barbara swallowed, her gaze fixed on a spot behind Joan. She couldn’t look into the blue eyes of she might do something stupid. „I.“, she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say, that she didn’t like it and had never liked it and would never like it, because she knew what it meant. She had liked what Dorothy had done, had liked her kisses and her touch. And she couldn’t face what that meant. 

Joan turned. „Sometimes Franchot is rough with me.“, she looked out of the window.   
„I don’t like it.“   
Barbara nodded. She understood. „Like at Home.“, Joan continued. 

„I like it gentle.“, Barbara felt her cheeks flame, she never had been one to talk about it. 

They shared something, Barbara had forgotten made a connection so valuable. They shared a similar past and a similar future. Joan stepped behind her, the steps as calculated as ever. Barbara didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, when she felt the two hands on her shoulders. Joan let them rest there for a while, that felt like a year and a second at the same time. 

The air had suddenly become hot and sticky, as Joan stepped even closer. Her body now against her sweater. It would be so easy to lean into it, to let herself go, but Joan was just being friendly and she was a sinner, that made this something it wasn’t. She cursed her body for reacting to the beauty, she cursed her mind for thinking what she did. 

The hands began to move and Barbara stayed still, slowly the fingers traced the skin around her Collar, began to rub the spot between neck and shoulder, that always felt so tense. Joan pulled her tighter against her, resting her chin on her shoulders, while her hands worked magic. Barbara sighed into it, welcoming the soft warmth, ignoring the screaming pulse that made it hard to think. She turned her head, looking up at the woman, watching the jawline move, the eyes that were were so blue and bright, the hair that fell into her face. The familiar Need set in again and Joan bent down a bit. 

She came closer, eyelids flickering—

„Get your hands of my wife.“, Frank slammed the door shut and the hands vanished. Joan scattered away, like a bird takes safety, when a dog chases it. „Don’t you dare.“, He was so big and tall and angry, as he slammed her against the door. „Don’t you dare ever come here and bring your disgusting dyke ideas, shes not interested in your perversion.“

He grabbed her and pushed the young woman out of his house,The door closing behind her. Barbara didn’t dare to cry. She felt like it, but she didn’t dare to. She knew what would come now. And her eyes were closed as she took it, took each hit with the same blank face she always had. The same expression, the same emotionless state, she knew how to make her mind go blank, how to forget what happened. 

When he felt he had done enough, taught her a lesson, he left, not speaking a word. And she waited a minute, until his footsteps were far far away. The woman got herself off the floor, grabbed her keys and left the house. She knew where to go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skksksksk This is what yall came here for I hope......nsfw....

“Joan. Joan.” It was the middle of the night and Barbara hammered against a cold wooden door. She shivered in the cold air, tugging her shawl tighter. The air was filled with anxiety, breathing was hard. She just hoped Joan would open up. He could be coming out of the house, looking for her , at any minute.   
„Please don’t be angry, please don’t be angry, please don’t be angry“, she prayed. Joan had every right to be angry. It was her husband who had called her these things, her husband who had thrown her out. 

The door opened. Thankfully. Joan stood there, hair in curlers, glasses on her nose and still the moon lit her face up. The most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Are you okay?”, she ushered Barbara in, closing the door behind her. 

The slender woman broke down, shaking, leaning against the black door of the California styled home. 

„Im sorry, im so sorry.“, she sobbed, between cries, almost fainting. 

Nothing more was left to say and Joan helped her upstairs, taking off the ripped pyjama pants, slowly treating a big bruise with some ice and a cream she had pulled from somewhere out of her vanity. 

Barbara just sat there. Numb. Staring into the distance on the edge of Joans bed.

“You can’t let him do this to you.”, Joan whispered into her hair, pulling her closer. 

„Joan, Im so sorry.“

„It’s not your fault.“

Barbara leaned into the touch, a familiar feeling rising and pushing down the pain and the guilt. Joan straddled her face, with her milky white hands, holding her tight, kissing her forehead, her nose, her wet eyes, her tear tinted cheeks. 

Barbara looked up, at the most beautiful woman the silver screen had ever seen,these big blue eyes looking back at her, though the tears and the questions that bubbled up, if this was right and if this was okay. 

They kissed softly, slowly almost languidly, for what seemed to be hours or days or seconds. They kissed like a promise, never spoken, but heard. 

Hands began to stroke, Joan taking her to bed, laying her down, with shushes and whispered words of affirmation and it was perfect. Soon sobs turned to giggles and chuckles turned to moans and husked words. The night exploded around them, taking them in, allowing for a minute of peace and quite. 

Their bodies touched lengthwise, skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, Barbara’s hair was spread out on the white pillow, framing her head.

“Never leave me.”, She whispered, kissing Joans neck, the muscle twitching underneath.

“You are the one that is going to leave.”, Joan replied, already knowing. She herself was crying too now, as she softly let her hand cup a small breast, marvelling how the skin felt. 

„Please...“, it sounded desperate. Joan dropped her hand lower, dragging it across her body, the heat nearly burning her. 

She needed it and Joan knew. She didn’t waste time, didn’t play around, she pushed into her, quick and fast, finding the spot that made the woman cry In pleasure. The back under her arched, a thrown back head, her throat exposed. It didn’t take long for the slender body to buckle underneath her hands and then finally collapse. 

Breathing heavily, they both took a few moments to find themselves again, as of they had both lost something. Joans head was resting on the woman underneath now, listening to the rapid heartbeat. 

Barbara grabbed her by her arms, now her gaze fixed on the woman. She pushed her back a bit until Joan was sitting up straight, still in a tight grip.   
Barbara slid down her hands, dragging her nails, marking the skin slightly. 

When she reached Joans hips, she dug her fingers in, grabbing her, and then husking:“ come here“, while pulling her upwards. It was the darkness of her voice, the edge and the huskiness that made her oblige. Joan raising her hips until her legs were framing Barbara’s face. Eyes still locked Barbara leaned in, first licking the soft skin on Joans thigh. She felt a shiver.

Her hands still on her hips, she made sure Joan held still, then she cupped the entire wetness with her mouth, moaning into it. Joan nearly jerked her hips forward, throwing her head back. Her tongue began licking, in quick small circles, fast, with no mercy . She felt Joans hands on her hair, felt her neck hurting, but didn’t stop.   
She kept going until Joans moans turned into screams, until the legs pressed into her head and the body over her began convulsing almost levitating. 

When she finally collapsed they were both breathless. Joan didn’t take her time, she crawled under the blankets, tried to catch her breath and regulate her heartbeat and held the woman in her arms. 

Barbara felt the other woman’s heartbeat, felt her own blood in her ears. She was happy, for the first time in years. 

When the sun came up the next day, a figure hurried down the path to her own house, still limping from the fall, her heart in her throat. This had been a mistake. This had been wrong. She loved her husband. She had to. It was what was right. 

He had made her breakfast. Pancakes, orange juice, flowers from the garden. She smiled, and sat there, eating it all, trying to avoid eye contact with the man, she had married. 

He kissed her on the cheek and she flinched, for a quick second. His skin was rough and dry, while Joans had been soft and caring.


End file.
